


Fantasy Meets Reality

by VCCV



Series: Pretending For Real [2]
Category: Glee
Genre: Angst, Fluff, M/M, OOC, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-29
Updated: 2017-05-29
Packaged: 2018-11-06 12:43:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11036424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VCCV/pseuds/VCCV
Summary: Follow up to "Pretending." Suddenly, it isn't, anymore.





	Fantasy Meets Reality

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, this is flangst. I like schmoop. I like drama. There's a lot of dramatic pissing and moaning about self-worth, and it's quite possibly over the top. So, prep your toothbrush and tissues and expect to suspend disbelief.   
> Summary: Originally to fill this, but it became a bit more angsty than requested. Hope it still works.

Eventually, no matter now into it one gets, no matter how hot it is, solo sex loses its charm. Oh, there's still the orgasm, that never gets old, but there are just some things that people weren't meant to do alone. Sex, I think, is one of them. 

I'd spent the last few months living my sex life mostly in my head. I'd discovered my head was a very horny place. I'd also discovered that I was dangerously close to falling in love with someone who didn't exist. Noah Puckerman may be the gorgeous, passionate, loving man of my dreams, but Puck was not. Puck was actually kind of a dick. And I was tired of spending every night bemoaning that fact.

So, I was going to do it. I was moving on to someone with an actual pulse. As my romantic options in Lima remained low, I decided to just skip the boyfriend part and go straight to the sex. I was losing my v-card if it killed me, and according to Mercedes, it just might. My decision to find a horny hunk of epic hotness at Club Zed on Saturday night did not fly with my girl.

"It's dangerous!" Mercedes argued, trying to keep her voice from carrying in the library. "He could be a total skank. Or have some STD. Or hurt you. God, Kurt! It's your first time. It should be special." 

Mercedes, for all her own tormentors, still lived in a rose-tinted world. "Maybe it should be special. But I'm not likely to find Prince Charming in the halls of McKinley, so I'm going to go with realism today, regardless of how trampy it may be." I sighed. "I'm promise not to take up with anyone who has even a hint of skankiness, Mercedes. And I'll use protection."

Mercedes flung her hands in the air. "Boy, you are some kind of dumb. Why do want your first time to be with some drunk perv?

"I don't. I just want it over and done. I'm tired of waiting." Tired of pretending; tired of losing; tired of believing that 'better' is just around the corner. 

"You're 17. It's not like you're ancient! Can't you at least wait until you get a boyfriend?" Mercedes' protests had taken on the edge of a whine.

"That is exactly my point, Mercedes," I said. "I'm not likely to _get_ a boyfriend if I don't have some kind of experience."

"But a stranger?" Mercedes tried one last time. "How can that be better than someone who knows you? Who cares about you?"

"And where is this magical person who will care so _very_ much about me?" I snapped, a tad bitterly to be honest. "Oh, I know! He must be hiding in the janitor's closet, because I don't know any emotionally healthy, gay teenagers standing in line to sweep me off my feet." Mercedes couldn't have looked more shocked had I actually slapped her. The guilt set in and I sighed again. 

"I won't have to face a stranger the next day, Mercedes. I can just leave after the mutual exchange of pleasure. I won't have to walk down the hall and see him every day. He won't spread rumors about my performance in bed, or tell everyone what my O-face looks like." Or laugh at me with his friends. Or break my heart when he didn't acknowledge me in passing. And really, I was done arguing about it. My chin came up and Mercedes she knew she'd lost. I went back to messing with my iPod, and Mercedes sat fuming. And that was that.  
_________________________________________________

Saturday evening, I stood outside the infamous Club Zed and wondered why the hell I hadn't let Mercedes try harder to talk me out of this. I felt sick to my stomach and the panicked sweat I'd worked up in the Navigator chilled on my skin. I spent a few minutes shivering, watching the clientele entering and exiting the bar. I wondered how the hell—even if I got the courage up to go to the doors—I was going to pass for 21 and get past the brutish looking door attendant. I certainly didn't want to go home with only stories of my appalling lack of balls. So gathering my courage, I stilled shaking limbs and firmed up my trembling chin. I was Kurt Hummel. Shit scared, I may be, but I totally rocked my outfit and someone besides Mercedes needed to see it.

I approached the door, readying a scathing insult, but the brute bouncer—dear God, it's a gay club. Did these people know nothing about waxing?—held the door open and waved me in. Shocked, my forward momentum stuttered for a microsecond, enough that the bigger man gave me a creepy, leering grin. Utterly disturbed and slightly panicked, I scuttled past the man and into the relative safety of the club.

Once my eyes adjusted to the dimmed lighting, I was mildly surprised at the ambiance. I'd either pictured a gay bar as a seedy cesspool of depravity or with a sequined Rainbow Brite-esque theme. This was actually pretty nice. The music was sexy, the lighting was mood-setting and, best of all, the men I could see all looked pretty normal; no chains or polyester or feathers in sight. I mentally thanked Mercedes for demanding that I go with 'mysterious and hot' rather than 'glittery twink'. 

There were several tables open, but I headed straight to the bar and claimed the barstool on the end. I tried not to look too completely overwhelmed at the sheer number of bottles behind the bar, and I was frantically trying to recall any 'sexy' drinks I'd seen ordered in movies when a glass appeared in front of me. I glanced up in surprise and the bartender winked at me. "Compliments of blondie on the other end."

I peered past the bartender and immediately found my patron. Blondie was an apt description. He looked as though he'd just come from a California beach. Where he pumped lots of iron. My mouth turned up in a small smile, and I nodded once before dropping my eyes shyly. 

I pulled my drink in closely and took a small sip of the multilayered orange and red concoction It kind of burned the back of my throat, but really, I was slightly surprised at the sweetness. I licked my lips and went in for another sip. A hand on my back nearly caused me to spit out the lovely beverage. I swallowed and turned to find Blondie standing next to me, a smarmy smile on his face.

"Startle you?" he asked, leaning against the bar.

I smiled weakly and nodded. "A bit, yeah." Blondie chuckled and sat on the barstool next to me. "Thank you, though," I added. "It's really good."

"Glad you like it. Name's Jason." He leaned in and ran a finger over my forearm. "And you are?"

I went a bit wide-eyed, never having had a male touch me in a manner that didn't end up with me picking spaghetti out of my hair. I quickly took another sip of the drink, choking slightly on the burn this time, and tried to look as though this were not a significant step in my sex life. "Kurt. My name's Kurt."

"Well, I'm _very_ pleased to meet you, Kurt," he practically purred. I wondered if he talked like that all the time. It would definitely play hell on the vocal chords. I knew first-hand from that damn Mellencamp song. My throat had hurt for the rest of the day. 

"Um…me, too. That is, I'm pleased to meet you, too." I felt my cheeks getting warm. I'd rather Jason think I was an alcoholic than a blushing teenager, though, so I swigged at my drink hoping to blame the color on the booze.

"So." Jason brought his finger back into play, this time tracing the vein in my wrist up to my elbow. "I haven't seen you here before. You new in town?"

I was finding it increasingly difficult to concentrate with Jason's hands on me. Sadly, not for the reasons Jason believed. Exploring my sexuality aside, being pawed within 30 seconds of learning someone's name was actually creeping me out. And the gravelly undertone to his ridiculous clichés was becoming kind of irritating.

"Ah, no." I pasted a smile on my face and sucked down another mouthful of my drink. "I've lived around here my whole life. But, this is the first time I've come here."

"Really?" Jason eased off of the barstool and leaned into my side. "Well, I'll just have to make sure it isn't the last time you _come_ here." He chuckled and playfully snapped his teeth in the air by my ear. I winced internally at the stupid, but politely laughed, not exactly sure now that I had Jason, how the hell I was supposed to get rid of him. I wondered if excusing myself to the restroom would be understood as 'we're done now' rather than an invite to follow me. 

I'd just decided against the bathroom escape when another hand slipped around my waist; although Jason might behave like an octopus, he didn't actually have a third arm. I turned slightly, ready to protest the liberties taken with my person…and froze.

"Sorry, man." Puck grinned cheerfully. "He's taken."

I think my brain broke for a moment. I wanted to pinch myself to make sure this wasn't a dream, but couldn't bring myself to self-harm. I looked horrible in bruises. I wanted to rail at him for haunting my presence as well as my dreams. I wanted to fling my arms around him and thank him profusely for sidetracking Jason. 

While I dithered like an 1800's heroine, Jason stepped in, pressing his body against mine. The slight attraction I might have felt earlier dwindled to nothing. I wasn't quite sure if it were the creeptastic factor or that the star of my masturbatory fantasies had his arm around me. Regardless, I shrank back a little, not enough for Jason to notice, but I knew Puck felt it. The band of steel around my waist posing as Puck's arm tightened further.

"Wait your turn, asshole," Jason sneered. At that, my head shot back around, and my hand went unerringly to my hip. I gave an indignant huff. _Wait your turn?_ Did this poorly peroxided, over-augmented prick—whose breath smelled like onion rings, thank you very much—actually expect me to fuck him in the bathroom and then head out to the bar for another round? Suddenly, the whole situation felt a hundred times sluttier.

Puck slid his other hand through the triangle formed by my arm and possessively splayed his fingers over my stomach. He pulled me back another inch away from Jason and hooked his chin over my shoulder, pressing our bodies together from shoulder to hip. Though nervous that a fistfight was about to break out with me in the middle, I took a moment to note that Puck and I were nearly the same height. Hmm. He'd always seemed…larger than life, though perhaps he appeared that way due to my abject terror. Oh, and Puck's denim clad crotch rubbing on my ass? Quite possibly the hottest thing I'd experienced to date.

"No turns. He's off the market, fuckwad." Puck's voice was everything Jason wanted his to be. Perhaps some ridiculous bodice ripper might have called it swooning, but as the low, rough sound rolled through me, my breath hitched and my eyes fluttered closed; I wanted to roll around in his voice. But, of course, the moment couldn't last, and I opened my eyes to Jason's face mere inches from mine. 

"Did you just call me fuckwad?" Jason demanded, his glare doing horrible things to his eyebrows. He lifted his hand to poke my chest, and I was suddenly teleported behind Puck. I blinked at his muscled back in confusion. 

"Touch him again, and I'll break your face," Puck promised. He bared his teeth and leaned in threateningly. Suddenly, Jason seemed to recall a pressing engagement elsewhere. With a final glare at me, he moved away and disappeared into the crowd.

Puck turned around and grinned. "Let's dance."

I dazedly allowed Puck to pull me onto the dance floor, still wondering if this weren't some bizarre dream brought on by pesticides on my spinach salad last night. It wasn't until Puck placed my arms around his neck and locked my body into a tight hold, that I could formulate a thought. Unfortunately, that thought concerned frighteningly strong shoulders and licking a path around Puck's collarbone.

Puck swayed us in a slow circle and just smiled at me. Not a smile I was familiar with; one that preceded some form of pain and/or degradation, but a real, honest smile that burned into me like the sun. I closed my eyes again for a moment, drinking in the feeling of my living, breathing fantasy come to life. But, I'd long since learned the difference between reality and fantasy. Regretfully, I forced my eyes back open and tried to prepare for whatever humiliation was imminent.

"What are you doing? Why are you here? Did you follow me?" 

Puck seemed decidedly unconcerned with my stern voice. He just shrugged. "Dancing with you. Keeping you from making a huge mistake. And no, I didn't need to. I eavesdropped on you and your girl the other day, so I knew where you'd be."

Puck used my belt loops to drag my hips into the curve of his own, and I lost my train of thought again. After he'd apparently settled me to his satisfaction, he moved his hands to my hips. He had big hands. I could feel each fingertip burning a brand into my ass. I kind of hoped my skin stayed true to form, because I wanted like hell to have a reminder of this moment bruised into my flesh. 

Taking a deep breath, I fixed a glare on my face. "Ignoring for a moment that you rudely eavesdropped on an extremely private conversation, why do you care if I make a mistake? Much less one that involves my ass and boy parts?"

Puck grinned. "Boy parts don't scare me as much as you'd think." 

And just like that, reality slapped me in the face. "What I think is that you're trying to fuck with my head. What I think is that there's no reason on this green Earth that you should be here right now. What I think is that you're a straight jock who beats up people like me for doing things like this," I retorted, angrily.

His grin faded a bit more with each verbal stab and, finally, it fell right off his face. What came out of his mouth next baffled me. "No one is going to beat you up again." Oh, my God, the sheer ludicrousness of that statement.

I snorted. "Are you offering to be my whipping boy or my bodyguard?" The brief flash of confusion was actually a comfort to see. Puck might act as though he'd been possessed or perhaps body snatched, but his appalling lack of literary knowledge was a constant. 

Then the grin was back. "Neither, though you could consider the bodyguarding a perk if you like."

"A perk for what?" I asked warily.

The grin turned positively wicked, and he reached up to run a single finger down my cheek. My eyelids fluttered again, but I managed to jerk my head away from his hands—oh, his hands—before the telltale shiver rolled through me. Unfortunately, I hadn't taken into account the other 75% of my body still in contact with his. His white teeth flashed in the dimmed lighting and he let that mind-altering finger trail down my side until it rejoined its partner and wrapped around my hip.

"You wanna lose your v-card tonight. I'm available. You need someone who knows the ropes. I'm your guy." 

Oh, dear God. Dreaming? Maybe. Butt of some soul-crushing joke? Much more likely. I surreptitiously glanced around the bar, searching for the rest of the McKinley Morons who had to be lurking about, waiting for me to fall for the Humiliate the Homo game they so loved to play.

Meanwhile, I affixed my best 'Bitch, please' expression and shook my head. "So, you've had copious amounts of gay sex that no one knows about and now, you're an expert on the subject?" I asked.

Puck shrugged, never once deviating from the hypnotizing sway of our bodies. "I know how to make a person feel good. As for the mechanics, the Internet is a wonderful thing." He waggled his eyebrows at me and damn him if I didn't feel a responding lurch in my chest. Still, the Internet?

"You expect me to let you near my ass on the strength of you having Googled gay sex?" I asked incredulously.

"I'll make it good for you." He leaned in and put his chiseled, perfect lips right next to my ear. "Give me a chance." As his warm breath rushed over my neck, it was all I could do not to give him anything he wanted. The question, and the reason I pulled away again, was: why did he want it?

"A chance?" I said unsteadily. "I only get to do this for the first time, once. I'm supposed to give it away to someone who's only _read_ about it?" I felt my traitorous body screaming 'yes', and I forced my hips back slightly.

"I'm a much safer option than that dick buying you booze," he said, smiling in what I'm sure he thought was a convincing—Jesus, it was convincing—manner. "You don't know what he's like. Is he into bondage? Weird kinks? Rough sex? You don't know anything about him. And, he doesn't know anything about you." He punctuated this overly thoughtful statement by loosing another breath over my sensitive neck. I felt those tiny hairs rise and hated that he knew how to work me up so very well; I didn't even know how to work me up that well. And it pissed me off.

"What I need?" I sneered. "You don't know me either, Puck. Don't assume you have the first clue about me. And all I need to know about you is that you're smug, you think the sun shines out your own ass and you're promiscuous, to put it kindly." My chin thrust forward and I tried pulling out of his arms completely.

He jerked me back in until I was almost riding his thigh. I'd freak out about rubbing my cock on Puck's leg, were Puck's cock not unbelievably rubbing on mine as well. "I know you," he murmured, his hands like vise grips on my hips. "You want someone to take charge, to be strong. Someone to count on. Someone who knows when to back off…"

"Like now?" I interrupted, struggling to push him away, my hands pressed flat on his chest.

"…and when to push." He thrust his hips up, aligning our pelvises. "Because he knows better than you some of the time." I couldn't argue. Fuck, I could hardly breathe. Noah Puckerman grinding on me in public while whispering dirty, nasty things to me was pretty much _exactly_ what the fuck I wanted. And, damn him, he knew it. 

"You want slow and sweet and romantic for your first time. You want someone to show you what your body is capable of." His hands slid from my hips to my ass and he pulled me in tightly, crushing my arms between us. I turned my face away and realized my mistake about the time he nuzzled that soft spot right under my ear. "You don't deserve to be some dirty fuck in the backseat of your Navigator. But that's what you're gonna get from that guy. That's all he has to give you. All he's willing to give you."

Shutupshutupshutup. I squeezed my eyes closed and bit back the whine that welled from my throat. Jesus Christ, he had to stop talking right the fuck now. I needed to shut him up. I needed to push him away; scream; slap a hand over his mouth. Something. But, I couldn't make my body move. What the hell was I doing? "And you're somehow willing to give me more?" I tried for nasty and ended up with breathless. 

He chuckled. "I'll give you anything you need, babe. You don't even have to admit you need it. I already know." He gave a gentle nip to my ear. I squeaked and tried unsuccessfully to turn it into a cough.

"When did you become such an expert on the inner workings of Kurt Hummel?" I asked shakily.

"I'm no expert," he admitted. "I'm pretty sure I'll fuck something up. But, if you trust me, I can fix it, too."

That returned a bit of my backbone. "Just trust you?" I laughed humorlessly. "That's it, huh? Just ignore the last five years of monumental abuse and give myself over to your capable hands? Tell me; were you very drunk when you came up with this crap?"

Puck sighed and his head drooped. "Just let me show you."

I shoved, hard, on his chest and managed to put some distance between us. "Show me what, Puckerman? How easy it is to manipulate the needy, gay kid? How funny it's going to be when you tell all your douche friends how fast I rolled over for you? How utterly fucked up this whole situation is?" I pushed again and broke his hold, tripping over my own feet. In my hurry to get away from him, I'd not noticed how close we were to the wall, until I'd careened into it.

"Goddamnit, Kurt!" He shoved his hand behind my head to keep it from bouncing off the wall and took advantage of the position to cradle my skull, immobilizing me as I tried to squirm away. His other hand came up to join the first, pushing its way through my hair. I was now completely at his mercy, nearly dangling from his hands.

He looked deeply into my eyes and I hesitated for a split second at the earnest expression on his face. It was time enough for Puck to pull me in and push me back. Now, not only was he holding my head motionless, but also he'd managed to pin me against the wall. Apparently, being manhandled was an unknown kink of mine. I was disgusted with myself at the quiver in the pit of my stomach and the instant tightening of my jeans.

I knew Puck could feel it. There was no way to hide it. He'd won. He could go back to his little jock buddies and have a good old laugh that I was so desperate to get fucked, I'd bend over for the enemy. He could tell everyone that he was such a stud, none of the girls _or_ the boys could say no. But, he didn't gloat. And he didn't stop. No one jumped out of the woodwork to laugh and point at me. No one came forward to high five the reigning King of Sex. 

He just kept his eyes locked on mine and let a hand fall from my head, tracing a burning trail down my neck. The hand crept its way up the soft skin of my throat. I swallowed reflexively against the pressure and felt, rather than heard, the soft rumble of Puck's satisfaction. His hand fit around the curve of my chin; his thumb rested on the corner of my mouth. He dropped his gaze to my lips and stared until I nervously darted my tongue out to wet them. Puck's entire being seemed to focus on that tiny movement. When my tongue had slipped back, he followed the path with his thumb. He outlined the edge of my lips and then lightly hooked the lower one. He tugged slightly, just enough to force me to part them, then he pressed his thumb between them and into my mouth.

I must have lost my mind. I had no idea why I was just standing there, letting Puck grope my mouth. I should have bitten his damn thumb off, but I stood like a besotted moron while he dragged his gaze up from my lips to my eyes. I insanely touched the tip of my tongue to his thumb and watched in curious pride as his pupils dilated until there was only a thin, green line surrounding them. His mouth dropped open slightly and I could feel the warm, moist rush of his breath against my skin. I couldn't feel the wall behind me for the press of his hot form in front of me. I couldn't hear the music for the rush of blood through my ears. Puck felt incredibly amazing against me. Suddenly, a wave of embarrassment hit me and I pulled my tongue back and dropped my eyes. Puck withdrew his thumb just enough to rub the wet digit over my lower lip. Then, before I could protest, he replaced his thumb with his lips.

I thought the touch of Puck's slightly roughened lips against my own softer ones must be terribly similar to being struck by lightning. A tingling raced through my whole body, hardening me even further—if possible—and leaving goose bumps in its wake. Unwittingly, my arms crept up from his chest to rest on his shoulders. The tip of his tongue raked across my lips, not demanding entrance as I would have expected, just tasting. It was over as fast as it had begun, and to my embarrassment, when he released my lips, I mindlessly went after his. My arms twined around his neck to prevent him from pulling away.

Puck gently tugged me from his lips, smiling at the whimper it caused. Before I could die of mortification, he breathed hotly across my cheek. "Come with me." He nuzzled his nose up behind my ear again. "Please." Ostensibly, I was an ear slut, because I could only shiver and press further into him. He ran his hand soothingly down my back and wrapped his arm around my waist.

"Oh, God," I moaned weakly. "This is the worst idea in the history of bad ideas."

Puck chuckled and leaned harder into me, rubbing our denim-covered erections together. "Is that a yes?"

"Does it matter?" I gasped.

Puck's grip tightened around my neck and waist. "Yes, it matters. What you want matters, Kurt. So, what do you want?"

What did I want? I wanted this to be real. I wanted to understand why he was doing it. I wanted to fall asleep tonight in arms that weren't my own. I silently screamed warnings at myself, but that part of Kurt Hummel, the part that always kept a wary eye open and watched my heart as well as my back was firmly shoved down. I anxiously searched Puck's face for a sign, any sign, that promised heartbreak, but I found only honest desire. Oh, God. What the hell was I doing?

"You." I mouthed it first, but then pushed the words past the lump forming in my throat. "I want you, you bastard." I felt the victory in Puck's kiss, but I suppose I couldn't begrudge him that. I was quite the prize. And he'd either worked very hard, or very well to get me to the stage where I completely threw common sense out the window.

When he pulled back, he smiled the sweetest smile I'd ever seen and slid his arm from around my waist and took my hand. He linked our fingers and walked us backward through the crowd to the door; his eyes never left me. The cacophony of sound cut off as the door shut behind us, and I had a moment of clarity in the sudden silence. It passed quickly as he spun me around, and I ended up pressed against a wall for the second time that night. Puck put a hand on either side of me, loosely caging me, and his lips crashed back onto mine. 

The parking lot melted away and the catcalls from random passersby faded into the background. Puck nipped at my lower lip and then followed it up with a soothing swipe of his tongue. My mouth fell open against the assault, as I was now sure my legs would duplicate later on that night. His tongue slipped in and gently caressed mine before retreating. Just as I got the courage to follow it back into his territory and return the favor, Puck pulled away, mouthing hotly at my neck. The gentle suckling and nibbling caused my head to fall back against the wall. I vaguely realized from the dull thud that it should have hurt, but the fiery magic Puck was creating on my skin pulled my attention away from such mundane things.

I whimpered helplessly when Puck lifted his head, and I opened my eyes to see him staring fixedly at my lips. I licked them, pulling in the lingering flavor of his mouth, and Puck's breath hitched. Curious to see if the first time was just a fluke, I tentatively poked my tongue out and ran it slowly over my bottom lip. Sure enough, Puck's eyes locked onto that tiny movement and he followed it intently from one side to the other. I felt something I'd never in my life felt before: sexually powerful. I smiled slowly and leaned forward to reconnect our lips. Puck frustratingly leaned back and put a finger on them. My cheeks flushed for an entirely different reason. The powerful feeling I just had turned to shame and sunk down deep into my belly. 

"I'm sorry. I thought—" I couldn't finish my sentence. I knew I shouldn't have trusted Puck. God, I was devastated already and all we'd done was kiss.

"We're not doing it here," Puck whispered, shaking his head.

I nodded rapidly, blinking my eyes, determined not to cry. "Yeah. Yeah, of course. I understand." 

He frowned at my choked reply and ducked his head to try and make eye contact. I obstinately refused to grant it. "What's wrong?" he asked, confusion lacing his voice. 

"Nothing." I smiled the most incredibly fake smile of my entire existence. Even Puck wasn't fooled.

"I don't think so," he disagreed. He reached out to touch my face and I jerked away, once again hitting my head on the wall. This time, it wasn't passion that dimmed the pain. My heart just hurt so much worse. Puck reached for me again, but I'd gone as far as I could go. This time I couldn't evade him. He grasped my chin in his fingers and pulled my face up. I still couldn't raise my eyes. "Whatever you're thinking, I'm pretty sure you're wrong."

I snorted delicately. "You just said we weren't doing this. Not a whole lot of hidden meaning there."

"I said we weren't doing this _here_." He shook my chin slightly. "I told you inside, you're not gonna settle for a quick fuck in the back seat. Now, did you have someplace in mind when you dreamed up this really awful plan for tonight?"

I flushed again. I felt like my face was on fire tonight. "No," I whispered.

"Okay," Puck said, shaking my chin again until I looked at him. "Let's think about it now."

I took a deep breath and tried to focus on something that wasn't my aching cock or my aching heart. "I guess we could go back to my house. Dad's over at Carole's. Sometimes he spends the night. Even if he doesn't, he's always home late."

"You were gonna take fuckwad to your house?" Puck asked, a dangerous note in his voice.

"Um…no, not really." I tried shaking my head, but he had too firm of a grip on my jaw. "I…I really hadn't planned anything after 'get in the bar and look available'," I answered honestly.

He stared at me incredulously for a moment, and then snorted. "Fucking hell, Hummel. You need a keeper." I would have argued, but the events of this evening rather startlingly demonstrated that he was correct. "Okay," he said, finally releasing my chin. "Your place it is."

To say that bringing Puck to my inner sanctum was scary was a severe understatement. It wasn't an 'Oh, crap. I forgot to put the dirty underwear in the hamper' kind of scary. It was more 'behold, this is who and what I am laid bare' kind of scary. This was where I started each new day, full of hope and promise. And this was where I ended it, beaten down and once again licking my wounds. Though I doubted the grey Dior classiness really said anything at all to Puck except, 'I'm gay and boring', the knot in my stomach grew heavier. But, for all my terror and worry, Puck entered politely and sat quietly on the edge of the bed while I fidgeted and wrung my hands.

Feeling slightly nauseous with confusion and worry, my eyes slid to the high, narrow windows of my basement room. I couldn't see anyone lurking out there. No shadows moving, no flashes going off. But that didn't mean they weren't there. That didn't mean they hadn't followed us. That didn't mean I was safe. But Puck wasn't acting as if he were…well, acting. Surely he wouldn't keep up the charade to this point. All I had to do was calm the hell down and trust him. Unfortunately, that thought ramped me up even further. Oh, God. What was I doing?

"Can I get you anything to drink? Are you hungry?" I asked nervously, falling back on manners.

Puck smiled that slow smile, the warmth in it unfreezing me from my rigid stance and luring me in closer. I took a minute step forward, but then hesitated. Puck held his hand out. I stared at it, rapidly creating and dismissing the myriad intentions he could have. I kept waiting for him to pull it back. Or to get up and leave when I didn't take hold of it immediately. But, he did neither. He waited patiently, arm outstretched and inviting. Cautiously, I crept forward and extended my own hand. My eyes darted anxiously from hand to eyes, hoping I would actually see the rejection before it came. Perhaps I could still retain a small amount of dignity.

But, it never came. Puck grasped my hand firmly and tugged, pulling me between his legs. I awkwardly moved into position and couldn't have been more surprised when Puck wrapped his arms around me and buried his face in the soft silk of my shirt. It soon became apparent that he wasn't moving anytime soon. Uncertain of the appropriate response, my hands fluttered helplessly around his head before settling hesitantly on his wide shoulders. He hmmm'd softly and rubbed his head into my stomach like a giant cat. This small bit of affection on a night when I'd only expected sex, from someone who had occupied my thoughts for months, who should never in this reality even be here…it threw me.

And it broke me. 

I'd been grudgingly accepting when I thought it was just fucking, because Puck was sexual and that was what he did. He didn't so much have sex as he _was_ sex, and even trying out a guy didn't seem that far out of his realm of possibility. But a hug…shouldn't a hug, especially one like this, mean something more? Or at least something far different from my expectation of what this evening would be? My insecurities threatened to overwhelm me. Why would Puck do this? Did he really think adding tenderness to the mix would make it better for me? Or was this just one more way to torment me?

I didn't know if I could follow through with this. I didn't think I could be with Puck like I'd dreamed of being with him, be the object of his devoted attention, then have him look right through me come Monday. Like I wasn't even there. Even the thought of that caused physical hurt. My lungs ached from holding my breath, and my eyes burned from squeezing them shut, trying to hold back the rising tide of emotion. I managed not to make a sound, tears falling silently down my cheeks, but the sobs that caught in my chest gave me away. Puck lifted his head at the first jerk of my stomach.

"Kurt?"

The concern in his voice was too much. "Please," I whispered, my throat tight and aching. "Please don't do this to me. Please don't pretend this means something." 

I opened my eyes when I felt Puck's rough thumb wiping away the wetness on my cheek. "What if it does?" he responded quietly.

"Stop! Just stop it!" I tried to shove myself away from him, but he had a death grip around my waist. I hit and clawed and twisted, but he wouldn't budge. It was too much. The crying, the panicking, the desperation; it was just too much. I gave up and hung limply in his arms. "Please just let me go." I tried asking with dignity, but suspect that it just came out as begging. He could walk away proudly tonight. None of them had ever gotten me to this point.

"You won't ever trust me, will you?" he asked sadly. I was too exhausted even to laugh. I just weakly shook my head and stared over his shoulder. I felt him hang his head and rest his forehead on my stomach. Eventually, he nodded. "Okay." His voice was smaller than I'd ever heard it before. He lifted his head. "Can I kiss you one more time before I go?"

Now, the laugh came, bitter and harsh. "Sure. Knock yourself out."

I expected him to stand, to kiss me and then to leave. I should have known Puck never does what others expect of him. Instead of standing up with me, he pulled me down to him. When he handled me this time, it wasn't rough or violent or frenetic, as it had been at the club. It was quiet, cautious, tender. He eased me down onto the bed, carefully controlling my descent. There was no toss and bounce.

He turned on his side and propped up on his elbow…and watched me. He raised his hand to my face and traced a path in the air over my cheek. We stared into each other's eyes, me—searching for answers, he—well, I have no idea what he was searching for. I felt unbelievably confused. I'd never had anyone look at me like that before. I knew I was a complete disaster; tears and eyeliner and red blotchiness. My eyes were swollen, my nose was running and my lips were rough from biting them. But Noah Puckerman was looking at me in something like awe.

Slowly, so very slowly, he leaned down until I could feel his breath on my face again. I'd like to say that I held my ground and let him kiss me as if it didn't matter. But, I didn't. As he turned his head to align our mouths, I let my eyes fall shut like a coward. And when his lips brushed mine, I wavered. When he then pressed those lips to the corners of my mouth, and to my cheeks and finally to my eyelids, I fell.

I didn't fight his next kiss, or pretend. I let him lead me in a in a different kind of dance. He coaxed my lips open and sucked the bottom one into his mouth, soothing the indentions left by my teeth. He took possession of my upper lip, tracing the edge with the tip of his tongue. Slowly, he worked his way past my lips. He playfully darted here and there, never in the same place twice. He forced me to come after him, which—God help me—I did. I chased his tongue back into his mouth, a needy whine building in my throat. He took pity on me and twined our tongues together, meeting one another in the middle. For the second time that night, my arms slid around his neck to keep him with me. 

I discovered kissing isn't all about two sets of lips smooshing together. It's about hands; pushing through your hair; sliding down your body; igniting nerve endings until you weren't sure if you should shiver or burn. It's about arms; strong and gentle; wrapping you up in a protective embrace. It's about teeth; biting a sweet path down your throat. Puck kissed with everything he possessed, and it was so much sexier, so much more than I'd imagined.

He licked a hot path up my throat to my ear and then exhaled, setting off a hotcoldhot quake through me. He sucked my earlobe into his mouth and lightly nipped it before dragging that wicked tongue up the back of my ear. I believe I mentioned earlier that I'd determined myself an earslut? Oh, yes. This cemented it. I tugged his head closer, pressing the side of my face hard against the bed, trying to present my ear as an excellent area in which to spend a bit more time. I might also have moaned a little. Or perhaps, a lot. He chuckled and nosed the spot he'd just licked. "Like that, do you?" I froze, uncertainty trying once again to take hold of the moment, but his teeth closed over the soft spot under my lobe and he worried at it until I was once again a quivering mass of heat and want.

"Don't be afraid, Kurt," he breathed over my skin. "Tell me what you like; tell me what you need." He pushed up slightly and met my eyes. "I want to learn what makes you feel good." I peered carefully at him, still watching for a sign that he really wasn't as into this as he was making me. Finding only that strange, awed reverence, I tentatively tugged at the neckline of his t-shirt.

"Off?" I whispered. The smile that came after was nearly blinding.

"I can do that," he returned, pleased. He reached behind his neck and grasped the collar. In one smooth move that I could never hope to duplicate, he pulled the t-shirt off and flung it somewhere behind him. Holy fuck, he was a beautiful man. His skin was tanned and smooth and felt like velvet over steel. His chest, dear Lord, it went on for days. Acres and acres of warm flesh; muscle upon muscle contracting and releasing as he rolled onto me, pressing my legs apart. He nestled into me, settling his hips into the crook of mine, looming over me in a way that should have terrified me, but only made me hotter.

His hand reached out and toyed with the buttons on my silk shirt, and then he peered up at me through thick lashes. "Can I?" I swallowed dryly and nodded, incapable of making a sound at that moment. He took his time, meticulously pressing each button through its buttonhole; by the time he'd reached the third one, I wanted him to rip the damn thing off, Lauren or not. He tugged the hem out of my jeans and pushed open the shirt, exposing my chest as though he were unwrapping a present. The sight of his appreciative gaze on my—less than muscular—body sent mixed waves of heat and nerves.

He wrapped a hand around my neck and lifted me up long enough to pull the shirt entirely off, then he lowered me and let his hands wander my torso. He traced over my collarbones and down my sides. When he reached the barrier of my jeans, he ran his hands over my stomach, slipping a finger under the waistline every now and then. While his hands were busy, his mouth took a side trip to my nipples. 

I'd known they were sensitive, having tweaked them a time or two while pretending my hands were Puck's. I'd not known they had a direct line to my cock. His teeth closed on one nub and he sucked it into a stiffened peak before gnawing at it with his teeth. I arched my back and moaned. He then pulled off and blew a whisper of breath over the wet skin before moving on to the other nipple. I couldn't do much more than clutch helplessly at his biceps, desperately wanting more.

He gave it to me. He played with the nubs, bouncing back and forth, until I reached the melting point and took his face in my hands. He grinned up at me, my nipple still pinched between his teeth. He looked so pleased with himself that I couldn't help but smile at him. He crawled back up my body, dragging his bulge against my own. The friction made my eyes roll back in my head. He kissed me again, slowly and methodically mapping out my mouth with his tongue. I felt hands at my waistband, scrabbling to work my jeans open. The sound of the zipper was music to my ears.

He tugged on them and I raised my ass to let him pull the jeans over it. He hooked my underwear as well and pulled them both down until they lodged on my shoes. He slid to the edge of the bed and yanked my shoes off, and then he finished undressing me. He knelt there, his intense gaze wandering over my body. If I weren't hot and bothered already, his smoldering look took me the rest of the way. For the first time, I wasn't ashamed of being naked. I wasn't hiding behind a gym towel or a partition. I was laying spread eagled on my bed, squirming not from embarrassment, but from sweet frustration. Noah Puckerman made me feel sexy. 

Somewhere between one moment and the next, his clothes were gone as well. My imagination fueled by a glimpse or two—or half a dozen…maybe more—of Puck in the showers after PE or football didn't do him justice. He was beautiful. And he was here…in front of me, naked for me, wanting me. It was nearly unbelievable. I'd envisioned him bare and tangled up in me so many times, so many ways. However, even in my fantasies, I'd never imagined that look on his face. It was full of want and wonderment, and strangely, caution. He took a hesitant step forward and paused. Maybe my own staring made him nervous, maybe he was just scared—of me, for me, because of me. But, it was my turn to take the first step. 

I held my hand out to him. Almost instantly, the tentative expression disappeared; melted away by his incredible smile. He took my hand and let me pull him down on top of me. The weight of his body wasn't what I was expecting. I thought I'd feel smothered, pinned, trapped. But the more of my body covered by his, the safer I felt. 

I snaked my hand between us and found his erection. The groan he gave at the touch of my hand made me smile. I didn't know what he liked, of course, but I knew what I liked. I gripped firmly at the base and ran my hand along his length, thumbing the head of his cock on each stroke. Whether it was his preferred method of jerking off or not, he seemed to enjoy it if the drops of wetness that slipped from his slit were any indication.

Before I knew what I even had in mind, I lifted my hand to my mouth and lapped at the bitter fluid. Puck made a strangled sound and I raised my eyes to peek at him through my lashes. Yes, it was completely a staged ploy. I'd given that same look a hundred times in the mirror as practice. This, however, was the first time a response had ever taken my breath away. He looked almost as though he were in pain. He followed the strangled cry up with a whimper as I licked my palm and returned to stroking him.

He seemed completely blissed out, but when I tilted my hips in request, he had my prick in hand in seconds. My fantasy? Where his roughened hands scraped against my cock, driving me to insanity? Those were a child's dream. The calluses from guitar frets were like soft sandpaper, not rough enough to hurt, but just enough of an edge to leave me shaking. And though the moves were the same, that it was Noah Puckerman's hand on me made it so very much better.

After a moment, I realized just how closely his strokes were to mine. Every squeeze was just the right pressure; every twist, just the right amount of catch. Then, I realized: he was moving in sync with me. A wicked thought lodged in my brain. I stopped twisting and started running my thumb under the flared head, scratching slightly. Sure enough, a few seconds later he was mirroring me. Now, don't get me wrong. His hand on me was just this shy of heaven, but his imitation was just so freaking adorable, I couldn't help but giggle.

Puck faltered a moment, looked slightly embarrassed, but donned a mulish expression and went back to copying my every movement. I lifted my head to whisper in his ear. "It's okay, you know. I've never done this before either."

He faltered. "Am I doing something wrong?" he asked anxiously.

I gave a delicate snort of laughter and ground my cock up against his. "Does it feel like you're doing something wrong?" Puck groaned and shook his head. The silence lasted for a couple of minutes; the only sounds the rasping of hands on each other's arousals and tiny grunts and moans. 

Then, "Okay," Puck said quietly, slowing his hand down. "I know there's lube involved, and stretching, and that there's a prostate somewhere up in…there." He waved vaguely at my stomach with his other hand. "I just don't know the specifics, and I feel stupid." The mulish expression was back. "It's like being sent out on the football field and knowing the names of the plays, but not knowing how to run them."

"You realize that analogy means absolutely nothing to me, don't you?"

Puck shrugged and gave a faint, awkward grin. "Yeah. Sorry." 

I stilled my hand. Puck followed suit and waited, watching me, to see what was next. I nodded to the bedside table. "Top drawer," I whispered. "There's lube. Why don't you pull it out and we'll experiment together?"

A slightly embarrassed smile spread over his face, but he nodded gratefully and stretched to open the drawer. He scrabbled around a bit, and then his eyes grew wide. I closed mine and mentally kicked myself. When I opened them again, I wasn't surprised to see Puck gingerly holding my eight-inch, blue sparkly dildo. He turned it this way and that, watching the flecks catch the light.

"Oh, God," I said, putting a hand over my face. "You weren't supposed to find that."

"Um…it's, er…a—" Puck stammered out. I peeked out from between my fingers. While yes, Puck was a bit perplexed and flushed, he also looked very interested. I brought my hand down slowly.

"I named it," I offered. Puck only raised an eyebrow. My blush spread. "Its name is Puck." I stared over his shoulder, trying very hard not to make eye contact. I could still feel Puck's start of surprise.

"You named your—"

When he trailed off, I glanced at him briefly. Surprise, still a bit flushed, but no smirking or disgust. "It's a dildo," I further ventured. My face felt like it was on fire, and not the fire that had been flowing through my veins a minute ago.

"So… you think about me when—" Puck seemed unable to finish a sentence.

I laughed shortly. "Lately, it seems to be all I can think about every time my hand goes near my dick," I admitted.

"You…fuck yourself with this while you think…of me?" Still surprised and flushed, now however, a bit of interested desire. 

In for a pound, I suppose. Or maybe, I just wanted him to know how I felt; how much he really affected me. He'd seen everything else; I might as well show this off, too. It wasn't as if he didn't already have enough to bury me with. I looked into his eyes and nodded. "I'm sorry," I said softly. "Is that too weird for you?" 

He inhaled a slow, deep breath. "Fuck, no," he said on the exhale. "It's goddamn hot."

My chest felt instantly lighter. I couldn't stop a giggle, and I tried to bury it by turning my face into Puck's shoulder. Mistake? Probably. Now I was wondering what brand of deodorant Puck wore and how freakish it would make me to buy a stick of it and add it to my right hand drawer collection.

Puck let me hide and nuzzled the top of my head. We lay like that, twined up and just quietly breathing each other in, for a long time. Then, Puck squeezed me tightly and asked, "What does it feel like? Does it hurt?"

I shrugged, not sure if I was really the right person to answer these important questions. But, I was the only one here, and fuck knows, the thought of him going to another person for answers—for a demonstration, was like a punch in the gut. "It hurts a little," I whispered. "It gets better, though."

"What does it feel like?"

"Well, like silicon," I smiled into his chest. I ran a finger down it and over his cock, letting the nail scratch slightly. "It's not warm. It doesn't twitch when I touch it." I laughed quietly as Puck's cock gave a twitch at that. He smacked my hip gently and I could feel the rumble of his laugh through his chest. "It's fine for what it is," I concluded. "But it's not like this." I closed my hand over his length and gave it another long stroke.

Puck let out deep groan and reached for me to reciprocate. As our hands moved rapidly, working each other, our mouths met again, hungry and wet. We were both gasping when we broke apart. I mouthed the underside of Puck's chin, rasping my tongue over the five-o'clock shadow.

"Hey, you planning on using that lube anytime soon?" I teased.

Puck twitched again and dropped the dildo, blindly flinging his hand back into the drawer to search for the lube. Grabbing it, he flipped the lid open, but then stopped again, staring uneasily at the bottle. I gave a snort of amusement. Puck's head flew up, and he actually looked hurt. "What?" he demanded.

"So, what happened to Mr. I-Know-the-Ropes?" I taunted him with one of his own smirks.

"I do know the ropes," Puck protested. "Right up to poking things in places that need lube," he finished, looking flustered. As much as I enjoyed flustered on Puck, I disliked seeing him so uncertain. Noah Puckerman shouldn't doubt himself, especially about sex.

"Hey," I said soothingly, cupping a hand around his cheek. I waited for Puck to look at me. "This is the part that I know." I rubbed a thumb over the stubble. "How about I take over the lubing part and you pick it up from there?"

Puck nodded and pressed his cheek into my hand. "I'm sorry. I'm just really scared I'll hurt you." My other hand came up to cradle Puck's face. Even if he were to pack up and go home right now, that one line was worth all of it. This was the Puck of my fantasies; here, naked and in my bed, rubbing his arousal against mine.

I took the bottle from him and squeezed a healthy dollop out onto my finger. He rolled off me so I could draw my legs up and reach between them. I smeared the lube over my puckered entrance and spread it around, massaging it in. Puck watched, wide-eyed and intent. I would normally have been embarrassed to put on such a show, even if I were alone, but Puck's breath sped up and his hand absently began stroking his own prick. I couldn't be blamed for my eagerness. Watching Puck watch me preparing myself was one of the most erotic things I could imagine—and I had imagined a hell of a lot of erotic things concerning Noah Puckerman.

I sank my index finger in to the second knuckle, and Puck gave a hungry growl. Shivering at the sound, I smiled down at him. "Wanna help?" I asked. He sent me another smoldering look and nodded, so I took hold of his hand and pulled it closer. I pressed our index fingers together and pushed them both inside me. Oh, dear Lord, his hands. I gave a high-pitched moan and thrust up against the friction and then I felt something cold and slick added to the mix. I realized that Puck had squeezed out more lube.

"See?" I panted. "You've already got it figured out." A few thrusts later, and I pulled my finger out, immediately twining my hands into the bedsheets. Puck hesitated for a split second, then began to explore on his own. "Use a second finger," I groaned, grinding my hips down. Carefully, after drizzling even more lube, he inserted a second finger and pushed. I shuddered and gasped. "G-good. Now, spread them apart…stretch me."

Puck followed his instructions immediately and precisely, leaving me whining and clenching the sheets so tightly I feared they might rip. Oh, who am I lying to? I didn't give one fuck about ripped sheets, not when the actual man of my dreams had two fingers buried in me to the last knuckle. "I wondered what your fingers would feel like; thicker, rougher." I could barely recognize my own voice.

"Is it as good as you thought?" Puck asked, his own voice gravelly and strained.

"Oh, God yes," I whimpered. "It's more than good. It's amazing. You're amazing. More, please?"

"More?" He sounded a bit skeptical.

"Yes, more."

"You sure you can—"

"Have you seen the size of that dildo?" I laughed breathlessly. "I can take it. Just use more lube." Lube flowed over Puck's fingers and down my ass like a river. 

He pushed the third finger in and I screamed. "Yesyesyes!"

"So, I'm doing it right?" he questioned, the smirk evident in his voice.

I moaned and managed a high-pitched giggle. "Oh, yeah."

After a few minutes of listening to me pant like a bitch in heat, he slowed. "So, um…how do I manage this prostate thing again?" he asked.

"You…you crook your fingers up." He adjusted his hand inside my hole, making me squirm helplessly. He then bent his fingers as directed and paused. "Now feel for a bump. Further in. It should be abou—oh my fucking God!"

Puck paused. "Are you okay? Should I stop?"

"If you stop now, Noah Puckerman, I will fucking hunt you down and kill you," I whined.

"Ah, okay." I could hear that damn smirk again. "So should I—"

"Just keep rubbing right there. Harder!" I ordered. He complied. Through slitted eyes, I could see him watching me writhe on his hand. His own erection lay heavy and forgotten on his leg as he focused on bringing me off.

"Can I touch you, too? Touch your cock?" he asked uncertainly.

"Jesus, fuck yes, you can touch me." My breath exploded from my lungs as I cried out. His strong hand wrapped around my cock and I was pretty sure I could die happy. I looked hazily down at him. He was so goddamn hot. Hot and adorable and fucking sexy. His brows drew together as he concentrated on wringing every moan he could from my throat. 

He started to experiment. He tried thrusting his fingers in and out; on every down stroke, bumping into the small nub he'd found. When the constant kneading slowed, the tingling electric feeling dimmed and my hips dropped a centimeter or two. He noted that and quickly drove his fingers back inside and began the rubbing again. My back arched and my hips shot back up, and he grinned, obviously pleased with himself. Even through the liquid fire spreading through my body, I managed a smile.

He glanced up and raised an eyebrow. "Something funny?" I shook my head, my breath catching when Puck dragged a nail over the head of my prick. 

"Nope. You're just cute when you concentrate."

He snorted. "Cute? Not hardly. I'm a stud; that makes me hot. Not cute."

I shook my head jerkily. "Oh, you're fucking hot, all right. But you're also cute. Did you know your tongue sticks out when you concentrate?"

"Does it?" he asked. "Like this?" He stuck his tongue out licked from the base of my cock to the tip. "Cute, huh?"

"Cute!" I yelped. "Sexy, hot stud, whatever. Jesus fuck, do that again!"

He chuckled and proceeded to lave every millimeter of my throbbing erection. I pressed my head back into the pillow and bit my lip to keep from screaming again. Puck's hot, sweet mouth closed over my cock; his roughened fingers pushed deep in my ass and his other hand gently rolled my balls. This had to be a dream. I prayed to every deity I could recall that I wouldn't wake up from this and discover that I was cold and alone. That I was lying in my own drying come and none of this was real.

"You won't," Puck responded between sucks. "I'm here. I'm real."

I hadn't even realized I'd spoken out loud. Puck was so sexy; his full, perfect lips closed around me; his tongue doing filthy things behind those lips. "Please," I whispered.

"Please, what, babe? Anything. I told you that," he replied, nuzzling his face against my length.

"Fuck me," I begged. My voice broke halfway through. "Please, fuck me."

Puck smiled softly and nodded. "Yeah. Okay." He pulled his fingers out slowly and I shut my eyes, wanting to cry at the empty ache their loss left behind. "Roll over."

My eyes flew back open. "No! I want to see you."

Puck crooked the corner of his mouth. "And I want to see you, but all the stuff I read says that the first time you should be on your knees. It's easier on you."

"I don't care! I—"

"Maybe you don't." He placed a silencing kiss on my lips. "But I do. I'm not real sure what I'm even doing, and the last thing I want is to hurt you." He tried turning me over, but I fought him. After all this time, all that it took to get here, I wasn't going to give up my chance to watch him.

"Wait! You…you could lay on your back and I could be on top."

Puck frowned. "Ride me, you mean?"

I nodded frantically. "Please?" I whispered. "I just…I just really need to see you." He gazed searchingly for a second or two, and then he smiled warmly and gave a quick nod. He rolled us, putting me on top, and I straddled his waist. Puck snapped open the bottle again and put a handful directly onto his cock, sucking in a breath as the cold gel slid over the head. He wrapped his hand around the base and held it steady for me. 

"Ready?"

A low moan escaped my lips as I pressed my slicked opening against his hard length. I sank down an inch or so and watched in pleasure as needy hunger crept over Puck's face. Then, I dropped. I don't know who cried out first, but as I impaled myself on his cock, I had the inanely stupid thought that even our screams were harmonious. Puck's hands flew to my hips as his back arched and he thrust deeper inside me.

"Oh, fuck fuck fuck," he groaned out through clenched teeth. "You're so tight, so warm." I felt the world swim dizzily around me and I feared for a second that I might pass out. I reveled in the full, complete feeling having Puck inside me gave. I braced my hands on his muscled chest and drew up off him. Puck moaned like a dying thing and tried desperately to follow.

That sexually powerful feeling from before came back in spades. I was in control. Every moan, every curse, every drop of sweat that Puck exuded, I caused that. Puck was writhing beneath me in a lust-filled haze…because of me. I reached up and gently tugged his nipple ring, grinning when Puck spasmed and nearly bucked me off. I dropped down again, sheathing him inside me once more, giving a tiny twist of my hips as I bottomed out.

"Gah! Fuck, Kurt!" he gasped. 

"More?" I practically purred. Who knew I could do that?

"Oh, God! Oh, fuck yes!" Puck cried out. And that cry was just the first of many. I rode Puck slowly. I was so unbelievably turned on by what I was doing to him, my own excitement and pleasure took a back seat. As Puck's breath began to rasp through his lungs and his whole body shivered beneath me, I sped up.

I wondered who this new confident, sexy Kurt was. Because it couldn't be the Kurt who was terrified of being played earlier. That Kurt wouldn't have had the balls to lean down and lick a path up Puck's chest, or suck a bruise into the hollow of Puck's throat. That Kurt wouldn't have pulled one of Puck's hands from my hip and closed it around my leaking erection. That Kurt wouldn't have experimented with squeezing and twisting and teasing until Puck's lashes shone wetly, and he was panting as though he'd run a marathon. 

I didn't know who this new Kurt was, but I was sure as fuck keeping him around; because having Puck underneath me like this was one experience I was determined to repeat. As many times as Puck would let me--oh, please let me. Please, please, please. I heard the words and thought for a minute I'd said something else out loud. A glance at Puck told me differently. 

His head was thrashing back and forth, his face drawn up in a rictus of pleasure. "Please, Kurt," he whispered, hoarsely. And I could hardly refuse. Of course, it helped that I was ready to explode as well. I felt that signaling tingle beginning in my spine, and it spread out like wildfire. Sound faded and my eyes fell shut. Every muscle in my body tightened and the fire began pulsing through me in waves. I threw my head back and ground down harder onto Puck's cock, trying to melt us together so I could live in this feeling forever.

As the fire dissipated, the shivers set in. I could feel the air drying the sweat all over my body, raising prickles in its wake. I slumped bonelessly onto Puck's chest, only distantly aware that he was still thrusting mercilessly into me. I felt his muscles tensing and he gave a hoarse cry as his back arched and his cock jerked again and again inside me. 

He collapsed back onto the bed, gasping for breath, and his arms closed around me, pulling me into his heaving chest and holding me tightly. He slipped out of me, bringing a warm, sticky dribble that ran down both of our thighs, but I was too exhausted to care. Puck turned us sideways slightly, settling me in the crook of his arms and throwing a leg over my hip. He pulled me in, ignoring the sweat and the wetness of my come all over both of our stomachs. I felt safe, protected, warm…loved. I couldn't see Puck's face, so I wasn't sure exactly how he was taking all of this, but when I felt the gentle press of lips against my temple, I smiled.

This was so much better than my fantasies.


End file.
